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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26290264">countdown to happiness</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/picketfences'>picketfences (OnyxSphinx)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Turn (TV 2014)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, ben is gay and nathaniel is not happy about it, i am. weak for this trope honestly., this fandom didn't have enough fake dating tallster fics so by the GODS i'm going to write one</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:01:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,607</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26290264</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/picketfences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben's going to bring his boyfriend-slash-fiancé to the Tallmadge Christmas dinner. There's only one problem—he doesn't <i>have</i> a boyfriend, let alone a fiancé.</p><p>Enter: Craigslist.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Caleb Brewster/Benjamin Tallmadge, Minor or Background Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>countdown to happiness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i should be working on my pacific rim prompts but instead i spent like two weeks writing this. oops.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ben’s busy filling out the last of his report when his phone rings. It’s been on silent all day, but with the clock ticked past eight—only by five minutes, he’s only staying a bit to finish this up so he can hand it in to Sackett before the holidays—, it begins to play, quite loudly, the start of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hello.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He nearly falls out of his chair—sends papers flying, and hisses “damnit!” before finally righting himself to answer it, trying to pick up and reorder the papers back into a semblance of their original neatness as he does. “Benjamin Tallmadge speaking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Son,” a familiar voice says, and Ben bites back a deep sigh. Nathaniel continues. “You haven’t RSVP’d to Christmas dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span> remains unspoken; and this time Ben does sigh; briefly thinking about a retort about how no one RSVPs to family events, before he says, “Dad, I’m just—I’m just busy, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s a blatant lie—he’s got a week off; but ever since his cousin got drunk five years back and outed him at Thanksgiving to the entire extended family, he’s been trying to avoid any gatherings that would force him into close proximity to his father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s usurped his brother for most disappointing child—a spot held for the four years prior to that by Samuel, who decided to not raise his kids religiously. Every once in a while when they’re talking they’ll have a laugh over it—Ben was always the favourite growing up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway,” he adds, “I don’t think Caroline wants me there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caroline is Nathaniel’s wife, and Ben and Sam’s stepmom—a perfectly nice, if slightly high-strung woman, for whom yelling over dinner is enough to make her pale. Last time Ben saw her was before he stormed out of the house five years back, and she was white as a sheet. Ben had been afraid that she’d faint.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can practically hear the scowl in his dad’s tone. “I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to see you so long as you keep—</span>
  <em>
    <span>it</span>
  </em>
  <span> quiet. We could be a happy family again, Benjamin. Take some nice Christmas photos to send out.” The last bit is said as if it’s supposed to entice him. And then: “Bring along your girlfriend, maybe—we’d love to meet her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben’s skin burns. Nathaniel knows damn well there’s no girlfriend and never will be; he just wants his fucking picturesque family—wants to prove to the relatives that, look, they’re normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually,” he says, icily, letting go of the papers before he accidentally tears them in his grip, “I’d love to come. I’ll bring along my fiancé—you’ll love </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a beat of silence before the other begins to stammer, “I heard there’s supposed to be a lot of snow on the interstate, maybe—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have tire chains,” Ben cuts him off. “We’ll be there by mid-afternoon on the 23rd.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He listens to his father sputter for a few more minutes—vindictive, yes, but damnit, he deserves it—before hanging up and shoving the phone deep into his pocket. He’s still got the last of the report to finish up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not until he’s sitting in his beat-up old Carolla, halfway back to the flat he calls home that what he said to his dad hits him properly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck. He’s just invented—not just a boyfriend, no, but a whole-ass </span>
  <em>
    <span>fiancé.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ben hasn’t been on a date, even, in almost two years, and now he’s promised to show up with a man who doesn’t exist. And if he doesn’t, then Nathaniel wins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna, his colleague and friend who works in the office next to his, would cuff him upside the head and say, New York accent strong as ever, exasperation dripping with every word, </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not a damn competition, Tallmadge.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna, unfortunately, is on the west coast with her girlfriend, Mary, and so it is very much a competition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He resists the urge to hit his forehead against the steering wheel. Think, Ben; you’re a planner. Break it down into bits—what’s step one?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Find a boyfriend, obviously. Counterpoint: how? It’s not like he can just go and find a boyfriend...right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Actually—maybe not. He drums his fingers against the steering wheel, staring at the light, waiting for it to turn green. He met Mary, and a few other of his friends, through a Craigslist add for a neighbourhood Thanksgiving—sure, it’s not exactly the same, but it’s a similar enough concept.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alright; so he’ll write an add looking for someone to be his fake fiancé for three days. There; problem solved. The light turns green, and he smiles slightly as he crosses the intersection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s easier said than done, though, as Ben realises after he actually sits down to type it up. No matter how he words it, he keeps cringing about it—</span>
  <em>
    <span>christmas dinner partner wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> sounds off, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fake fiancé for three nights </span>
  </em>
  <span>sounds like it’ll get taken down and, frankly, Ben wouldn’t blame them if it was, because it sounds 100% like some sort of cover for a shady sex add.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, he winds up settling for a variation of the former that doesn’t sound horribly stilted, adds his contact info, hits post, and hopes for the best. After that, he takes a moment to consider just how fucking ridiculous this all is, before he decides there’s no point in overthinking it, and makes himself a cup of hot chocolate because he deserves it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna rings him about an hour later; and he picks up the phone with a smile. “Hey, Annie,” he greets, “how’s California?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Warm,” comes Mary’s voice from somewhere off to the side, just as Anna says “Interesting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben laughs. “You’re having fun, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah—we’re going to go down to San Fran tomorrow and go to the Exploritorium,” Anna says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, really?” Ben slots the phone between his shoulder and his ear so he can pick up Oliver, his tuxedo cat, who’s a lazy little old man who refuses to jump up onto the sofa himself. “You’ve wanted to go for ages!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can hear her smile when she replies. “I know! It’s gonna be great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get me photos?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course—what sort of friend would I be if I didn’t?” There’s a pause; and then, more softly: “How are you holding up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben shrugs slightly; even though he knows she can’t see the action. “Fine. I have to feed Oliver wet food so he’ll take his medication in the morning, but he’s doing better.” He’d gotten a urinary infection a few months ago, but the medication’s helping a lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I meant you, Ben,” Anna says; a bit scolding. “Do you have any plans for the holidays? It’s not good for you to be all alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When did you become such a mother-hen? And I’m going over to my dad’s for Christmas, so I won’t be alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a tense beat. “Your dad who you have only talked to three times in the last five years? Ben, that’s a really bad idea...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Four times, actually,” he corrects; dragging a hand over Oliver’s thick coat. “He called me earlier—I wasn’t gonna go, but I sort of...accidentally invented a fiancé.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You what,” Mary and Anna both say. She must have the phone on speaker. Ben winces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know it’s not the best idea,” he rushes on before either of them can get a word in edgewise, “but, look, I put an add up on Craigslist, and honestly, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to see his face when I show up with some guy on my arm. Even if it’s just a fake fiancé.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben imagines Mary’s got her lips pursed while Anna pinches the bridge of her nose. “For a Yale grad, sometimes I wonder how you made it through,” Anna says, finally. “I’m not going to tell you you can’t, you’re an adult, you’ve already made the decision, but really, Ben, you don’t have to turn everything—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Into a competition?” Ben guesses; and she sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Look, just...” there’s long silence, and Ben almost things she’s hung up, but then she says, “just take care of yourself, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” Ben promises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.” The relief in her tone is evident; and Ben feels a bit guilty about it for a moment. “Send photos of Oliver?” she asks; prompting a laugh from both Ben and Mary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will do, Ms. Smith,” he says, and hangs up with a slight smile. Oliver takes that moment to voice his complaints about Ben not scratching behind his ears properly, and Ben chuckles softly before indulging him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hot chocolate’s left a pleasant cinnamon-y taste in his mouth; and in that moment, Ben feels like nothing can possibly go wrong.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The next day is Saturday; so Ben’s alarm isn’t set. He still wakes up at six out of habit, but the warm weight of Oliver on his chest, entire body rumbling with his purring, means that when he closes his eyes, he drifts back off, and doesn’t wake up until ten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he does get up, the sunlight’s streaming in through the windows weakly; and he has to turn on the kitchen light. Oliver curls around his ankles a few times as Ben gets out the can of wet cat-food, forking out some onto a small plate and mixing the medication in. “There we go, buddy,” he says, and watches, bemused, as the cat scarfs it down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hides a yawn in his shoulder and gets out what he needs for pancakes; puts the pan on the stove and spends a few minutes squinting at the dial before he realises that he can’t see it properly because he’s not wearing his glasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wears contacts to work; it makes things easier; but he can’t exactly sleep in them, and he doesn’t want to go all the way into the bathroom to put in his contacts; and his glasses are sitting next to his messenger bag, on the counter, anyway; so he pops them on, and lets out a small sigh of relief when the dial—and everything else—comes into proper focus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that out of the way, he gets to cooking the pancakes; letting out a pleased hum when they all come out nice and golden. Oliver pesters him for a bite, because that’s just the sort of cat he is, but Ben gives him a stern look and nudges him out of the way with his foot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pancakes taste heavenly—though to be fair, he’s been eating cold cereal and coffee for breakfast for the last five days. He checks his phone while he eats; snaps a photo of Oliver begging for table-scraps and sends it to Anna. He’s got a text from Nathan asking about maybe meeting up for dinner some time, and three from unknown numbers, which he almost marks off as spam until he remembers the add he put up the night before and taps one of them—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>—and is greeted by a short, highly explicit text, with a photo attached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ,” Ben says, after a beat, and blocks the number. “Should have remembered to specify that it wasn’t for sex.” That’s kind of on him, but who even </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second number is significantly more promising, until Ben realises it’s a woman, which sort of defeats the entire point of this endeavour. He texts her an apology, and reminds himself to rewrite the add to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>male partner</span>
  </em>
  <span> instead of just </span>
  <em>
    <span>partner.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The third number is simple and to the point.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>my name’s caleb</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>i saw your add </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>want to meet up and talk about it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben’s lips quirk. He’s got no idea who this person is, but something about the messages amuses him. Plus, Caleb had the decency to not send him a nude photo, so that wins him points in Ben’s book. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sure,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he texts back, </span>
  <em>
    <span>when are you free?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t expect an answer any time soon; but Caleb surprises him; the phone vibrating with a new message after only a few minutes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>tomorrow? </span>
  </em>
  <span>reads the text; and then, a moment later, the typing ellipses pop up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>do you know rivingtons?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The coffee place?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ben replies. He’s been in to Rivington’s once or twice, but Abe, who goes more often, talks about the barista there all the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>yeah. how’s </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>tomorrow at two pm</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That works just fine; and he tells Caleb so. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span> Caleb replies, with a thumbs-up emoji at the end. Ben finds himself grinning slightly at that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oliver, annoyed at being ignored for so long, gives a whining meow, and Ben rolls his eyes, putting his phone away. “Come up here, you big baby,” he says, and lets the cat jump up and settle into his lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spends the next hour or so sat with Oliver, having fallen into a book he’s been meaning to read before he has to return it to the library, and so the mysterious Caleb doesn’t plague his mind much; but as soon as he sets it down, his attention turns back to the man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What will he be like? Nice, Ben hopes—Caleb is the sort of name he thinks would be attached to a nice sort of man. Abe would tell him he’s biased—the only Caleb he’s ever known was Caleb Brewster, his childhood friend and longtime crush, who he hasn’t seen since he graduated and left Setauket for Yale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Briefly, he remembers playing in Caleb’s uncle’s apple orchard as a boy, and smiles fondly. Maybe he should pay Lucas a visit when he goes to see his family—he’ll need a respite from his father, and Lucas Brewster was always a kind man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe, he thinks, he can even ask around and see if Caleb’s still in Setauket, or if anyone knows how to get in contact with him—it would be nice to catch up; they were always thick as thieves, much to his mother’s despair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The day seems to fly by; and before he knows it, he’s getting into bed, wondering how the meeting with Caleb will go—he’s been wondering about him all day actually. Finally, he manages to turn his brain off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That night, his dreams are full of boyish laughter and dark curls.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The alarm goes off with more insistence than it has really any right to, Ben thinks, reaching beneath his pillow to turn it off. It’s Sunday, for fuck’s sake—why does he even have it </span>
  <em>
    <span>on?</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s not like he has to go to work or anything—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Ben yelps, bolting out of bed, pulling out his phone. Shit—</span>
  <em>
    <span>quarter to noon?</span>
  </em>
  <span> How the hell did he sleep in that long? Sure, he went to bed a little late, but not</span>
  <em>
    <span> that</span>
  </em>
  <span> late...right? He groans, thinking about how the relaxing morning he had planned for himself isn’t going to happen—there’s no way he can take that nice, long, relaxing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>warm</span>
  </em>
  <span> bath like he’s been looking forward to, or spend an hour preparing breakfast. He has to go grocery shopping, too, and then at two he’s going to meet Caleb at Rivington’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alright. He can do this. He takes a deep breath and opens his dresser drawers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An hour later he’s burnt two eggs, set off his smoke-alarm, the shower is still running cold no matter what he does and he has to blow-dry his hair so it doesn’t freeze in the weather, and, to top it all off, he can’t find any of his thick wool socks</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>God, he decides, really just has it out for him. There’s no other explanation—Ben always wakes up by eight in the morning, even when his alarms aren’t set, and has since junior year in college. Nathan, who was his roommate junior and senior year, thought that it was unnatural—though, to be fair, Nathan’s idea of a “normal” college student’s schedule was more similar to something straight out of a film than that of any college student Ben knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, he throws on a pair of decently thick jeans and a shirt and a sweatervest, grabs his jacket, and decides, fuck it, he’ll grab groceries, come back, drop them off, and then get something to eat at Rivington’s—a sandwich, or a scone, or something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it turns out, he didn’t manage to get his hair dryed all the way through—he usually doesn’t use the hair-dryer—, so he’s shivering slightly by the time he’s halfway to Rivington’s. The rush of warm air as he opens the door makes him sag slightly in relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s early, but that’s fine; it gives him time to order a coffee and a tuna sandwich—both served to him by a dour-looking man who Ben is fairly certain is Rob, of the many hours worth of pining on Abe’s part. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls his phone out; texts Caleb to let him know that he’s sitting in the back. After a moment of consideration, he adds, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Beneath the impressionist painting</span>
  </em>
  <span>, just for the sake of clarity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry I’m running late,” a rich voice says, and Ben looks up from where he’s buried his face in the coffee to find a short, bearded man sliding into the seat opposite him. “I’m Caleb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Ben assures. “Uh, I’m Ben Tallmadge. Thanks for not being a weirdo when you replied to my add, by the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb’s brows raise. “Ben Tallmadge?” he asks. “You don’t happen to be from a little old place on Long Island called Setauket, would you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...yeah, why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other’s face lights up as he levels Ben with a beaming smile. “Bennyboy! D’you remember little old me? Caleb Brewster?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben sets his cup down. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Caleb Brewster?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he says. “Oh my God—wait, you live here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb nods. “Just a few blocks away, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus,” Ben says, “we’ve been living so close to each other and we never even knew—what’s it been, eight years?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye,” Caleb confirms; and they’re both beaming at each other now. “Haven’t seen you since you left for Yale. It’s good to see you again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben settles back into his seat. “It’s good to see you too. You kept the beard, I see. It suits you,” he adds; because it really does; gives him a bit of a roguish charm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’ve finally grown into those arms and legs of yours,” Caleb teases; leaning so his elbows are on the table. “So—what’s with the add?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just like that, reality crashes on him; destroying his momentary bliss of catching up with an old friend. Ben sighs. “I need someone to go to the family Christmas gathering with. A man,” he adds, when Caleb opens his mouth to ask the obvious question. “My father...has spent the last five years ignoring that I’m, well. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gay. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But I sort of backed him into a corner accidentally when he called the other day to invite me and my girlfriend to come because I promised him I would come with my male fiancé.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Except you don’t have a fiancé,” Caleb surmises; way calmer than he has any right to be. Ben just nods and takes another gulp of the still almost scaldingly hot coffee. “And you want me to pretend to be your fiancé?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just for a few days,” Ben clarifies. “And I’ll pay you, obviously—er,” he pats his pockets, pulling out a piece of paper, and hands it over to Caleb, trying not to jump as their hands brush. “Here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb glances over it, eyes widening. “That’s way too much,” he says, “Ben, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you pay me that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m asking you to pretend to be in a relationship with me, the least I can do is offer you compensation—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what sort of job you have, but you’re twenty-seven, there’s no way in hell you can pay that. Look, how about we make a deal—I’ll go for half, but you have to buy me a family-sized bag of Cheetos for the road there,” Claeb says, firmly, folding the paper in half and trying to hand it back to Ben. “The spicy kind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben shakes his head. “Trust me, Caleb, I can afford it. Anyway, anyone putting up with my father ought to be paid—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> much!” Caleb’s lips twist into a frown. “C’mon, Bennyboy, it’s me. You don’t have to try and butter me up with money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ninety percent,” Ben offers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other shakes his head. “Sixty. Last offer, Tallboy—unless you want to try and find someone else to be your one and only?” he adds, winking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a beat; Ben polishes off his coffee. “Seventy-five,” he says. “Final offer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seventy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. But if you get Cheeto dust on the seats of my car, not even God will be able to save you,” Ben threatens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words make Caleb crack a grin. “You’ve still got that old Corolla, then? How’s she holding up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well enough that I don’t want you to get fake cheese on the inside,” Ben retorts; trying to ignore the butterflies that spring up in his stomach at the sight of the other’s smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb’s grin widens. “I’ll do my damned best not to, then,” he says. “Now, are we going to plan out our fake relationship, or what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we’re doing this now, I’m going to need to grab another sandwich,” Ben warns. “And maybe another coffee, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead,” Caleb replies. “And grab me a pumpkin-spice latte too, will ya?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben raises a brow; but Caleb waves him off. “They taste good,” he defends. “Now off you trot, we haven’t got all day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye aye, Captain Brewster,” Ben retorts, drawing the title out comically for old times’ sake, and rises to go order their drinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he comes back, Caleb’s folding a napkin, knee bouncing up and down; and doesn’t register Ben’s presence until he sits back down across from him and slides the latte over. “Oi! Careful!” he protests, pushing the cup away from the napkin, “that’s a piece of fine art you almost ruined there, Bennyboy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Truly a masterpiece,” Ben says, drily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb flips him the bird, and shoves the napkin away into one of the many pockets of his duster jacket. Ben rolls his eyes. “Very mature. So, are we going to get on with this, or...?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, alright. So,” Caleb pops the lid off his latte, and stirs it, “how are you going to explain me being your fiancé?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe we got together when I was in Yale?” Ben suggests. “I mean, to be engaged we’d have to have been together for a bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Senior year, then?” Caleb offers; and then snaps his fingers. “Shite—! We say that we were pining for each other for years before that, and that we started emailing to keep in touch when you went off to college, and then it grew from there! It’s perfect—the time-frame fits, and it explains the jump from friends to lovers, too!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben swallows thickly; trying not to flinch at how close to the truth that hits; at least partially, minus the reciprocity, and the communication. “It does make sense,” he agrees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb leans forward, eyes dancing with excitement. “I proposed,” he says. “Right after you graduated, and we haven’t set a wedding date yet, but you want something kind of showy, and I’m trying to convince you to elope, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That gets a laugh out of him. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to elope. You’re a free soul at heart,” Ben teases. “Elope and get married on a ship, or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye—saves on the costs, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Ben agrees. “You know, for someone who spent years raving about the girls in Setauket, you’re surprisingly calm about this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb shrugs. “What can I say? I know a pretty face when I see one. Plus, it’s not like I’ve never had boyfriends before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben gapes at him; and Caleb kicks his leg under the table. “Close your mouth or you’ll catch flies,” he scolds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So...both?” Ben says, after a beat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb shrugs. “Didn’t figure it out until a senior year of high school, but yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben nods. “Okay—hey, my sandwich!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other grins crookedly around a bite. “Keep an eye on your valuables or they might get stolen, Tallmadge—or did ya forget that when you went off to college?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one at Yale was trying to steal my food,” Ben grumbles, and snatches it back; hoping Caleb assumes the heat he feels rising on his face is from annoyance rather than flusteredness at the chuckle the other gives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over his sandwich—and Caleb’s pumpkin latte—they hammer out the fine details of their relationship; as well as the logistics of their trip. Eventually, they just start talking about their childhood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Ben catches the tail end of Robert’s glare from the other side of the room, and realises they’ve been talking for over two hours. “Sorry,” he says, sheepishly, “I’ve probably kept you from the rest of your day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb waves him off. “Nah, I didn’t really have much planned,” he admits. “Honestly, this was the most interesting thing that I had.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m honoured.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t let it go to your head. We can go back to my place to talk more, if you want? If you’re not busy, I mean,” Caleb adds; and then rubs the back of his neck. “Forget about it, I have your number—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d love to,” Ben interrupts. “We could—catch up some more. It’s been too long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other’s expression breaks into one of joy. “Great,” he says, and grabs Ben’s hand, dragging him up out of his seat along with him, “let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb lives, as promised, not too far from Rivington’s; and the chilling wind has eased up some, too, much to Ben’s relief—his hair may be dry by now, but he still has no interest in getting stung by twenty mile-per-hour, frigid winds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His apartment is small; and crowded with knickknacks, but in a way that makes it feel homey—something Ben remembers Caleb feeling like when they were younger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The years show, though; the silence feels awkward rather than comfortable; and Ben clears his throat, trying to break it. “I didn’t realise you had a green thumb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb glances at the potted plants crowding the window. “It gives me something to do,” he says; sounding almost—embarrassed. “I’m not really good with anything that’s not a succulent, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Succulents aye great,” Ben argues, “they’re really nice—that’s cool. I wish I could grow anything half as well as you. Though,” he adds, “Oliver would probably eat it even if I did manage to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oliver?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My cat,” Ben explains. “Actually, that reminds me—I’ll need to get someone to watch him for when we’re gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb gives a noncommittal hum; and he manoeuvres around Ben with ease into the kitchen. “Pop-tart?” he offers; and then, at Ben's expression, laughs. “Toast?” he amends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Ben replies. “So—what have you been doing since I left Setauket?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other shrugs. “Bit of this, but of that. Worked on the tour-boats some, did some training to get a welding certification. Worked as a farrier’s apprentice for a hot minute. Right now I’m back with welding, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben whistles. “That’s an impressive resume. All I’ve got is an office job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb raises a brow. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Just</span>
  </em>
  <span> an office job wouldn’t give you the money to pay me that much, even after eight years. What are you, a spy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I work for the Department of Foreign Affairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect spy cover.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a spy. And even if I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>horrible </span>
  </em>
  <span>cover.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what a spy would want you to think,” Caleb shoots back, eyes twinkling; and sticks a piece of bread into the toaster along with his pop-tart. “Hiding in plain sight and whatnot in the day, and then in the night, you go around the world and keep us all safe from, uh, dangerous weapons dealers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The most dangerous thing in my day to day life is the feud between my manager, Sackett, and the head of Internal Affairs, Arnold—if looks could kill, I’d be dead ten times over within the day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The toaster dings; Caleb deftly retrieves the toast and pop-tart. “You’d better not die on me before we get back from your dad’s,” he says, seriously, “I’m holding you to that payment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben chuckles. “So now you’re willing to take it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Now shut up and eat your toast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben does, though he spreads butter and jam on it first. Caleb finishes his poptart first, and hops up onto the singular stool at the kitchen bar. “So,” he says, fingers tapping the counter, “how much PDA are you okay with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben blinks. “Sorry, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For when we’re at your dad’s,” Caleb clarifies. “Obviously I’ll lay off when we’re at the hotel or somewhere else, but we</span>
  <em>
    <span> are</span>
  </em>
  <span> meant t’be engaged, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, right,” Ben murmurs; shaking his head; and then, more loudly, “uh, it’s really all fair game.” Caleb raises his brows, smirking, and Ben hastily amends, “It’s fair game so long as you’re not doing something publicly indecent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Public indecency? Who, me?” Caleb asks; feigning innocence, and Ben rolls his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew you for over a decade, Brewster, don’t give me that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, fine,” Caleb concedes. “So you basically just want t’ make sure that your dad can’t ignore the fact that you’re gay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben nods. “Essentially. I’m sure you’ll charm his wife, Caroline, so as long as you don’t say or do anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> overt, he’ll just have to seethe in silence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sweet,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Caleb says, rubbing his hands together. “Do I have to dress fancy, or...?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What you’re wearing now is fine,” Ben replies. “Maybe trim your beard a bit, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb lets out a gasp; pressing his hand to his chest. “I love my beard like I’d love my own </span>
  <em>
    <span>child!</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m not going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>cut</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d sooner jump in a river than have a child,” Ben points out, drily; and Caleb shrugs. “If not trim it, then at least comb it—it looks like a thicket.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knives. Knives to my heart,” Caleb says; dramatically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben huffs. “I should get going,” he says. “I didn’t get a ton of sleep last night, so I’m kind of exhausted. We can meet up again, though,” he adds, “or if that doesn’t work for you, you still have my number.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb waves him off. “It’s fine, Bennyboy. Go get your beauty sleep. Say hello to that cat of yours for me—Oscar?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oliver,” Ben corrects, making his way to the door. “And I will. Bye, Caleb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“G’bye, Ben!” Caleb calls after him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the cold outside, Ben finds his cheeks feel like they’ve caught on fire; and he can’t banish the image of Caleb’s smile for the rest of the day.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Over the next few days, he talks with Caleb as often as he can, both in person and over text. He reasons to himself that it’s only so that they don’t seem like total strangers at the Tallmadge family Christmas. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Strictly speaking, laughing over the cat memes Caleb sent him while he’s at work isn’t exactly reacquainting himself with the man, but he refuses to dwell on that.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time the day of comes, Ben almost feels like the years of separation almost didn’t happen; he’s fallen into an easy rapport with Caleb, one that feels as comfortable and natural as breathing, and Ben is eager to remain in contact afterwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna meets him in the lobby of the apartment building; one hand shoved in her pocket and the other tapping away at her phone. “Ben,” she greets, without looking up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Annie.” His lips twitch up; it’s his first time seeing her since she got back from the coast with Mary. He slips his free hand into his pocket, and holds it out to her a moment later. “Here’s the spare key. Oliver needs to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have his pills crushed in with his wet food in the morning, and then his litterbox is changed in the morning and at night, and I only need to fill up the food-dispenser if it looks like it’s going low,” Anna repeats. “I know, Ben, don’t worry. You told me this all the other day, remember? I even took notes on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben lets out an anxious sigh. “I know, I know, I just...I worry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks up and offers him a comforting smile, and pats his shoulder. “It’ll all be fine, Ben. Go. Good luck with your family.” She doesn’t tease him about Caleb like she has been for the past week since she found out about him, and for that, Ben’s glad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Ben murmurs, and moves past her, suitcase rolling behind him, and down the ramp to where the car’s parked. He loads the suitcase into the trunk, and then takes a deep breath and gets into the front.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The traffic’s pretty heavy, so he’s glad that he got going early, because it means that he manages to get to Caleb’s almost on time. Thankfully, Caleb isn’t terribly punctual—never has been, as long as Ben’s known him—, so he’s not to bothered by it; just waves Ben in and tells him to make himself at home while he finishes packing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you even need to pack?” Ben wonders aloud as he makes a sandwich. “We’re only going for three days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Precisely,” Caleb replies from the bedroom. “Anything can happen in three days. Gotta be prepared, Bennyboy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben rolls his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb, who’s finally appeared out of the bedroom, with his suitcase in hand, wags a finger at him. “Don’t give me that,” he says, “what if I spill something on myself at dinner? You wouldn’t want your fiancé to be walking around with a soup-soaked shirt, would ya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben’s heart flutters. “Fake fiancé,” he corrects, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as strained at it feels, “and actually, that’d piss off my dad even more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, then, for </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> sake. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t want t’ walk around in a soup-covered shirt. Now,” he sets the suitcase down to clap his hands, “are we going, or what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yep, we are,” Ben replies, polishing off the last few bites of the sandwich as quickly as he can. “Alright, let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They manage to wedge the suitcase in the back with Ben’s after a few minutes of rearranging, pushing, and prodding, and Ben closes the trunk as quickly as he can, half-afraid that they’re going to fall out at any minute. Caleb, by his side, reaches out to put a hand on his arm. “Hey,” he says, gently, “d’ya want me to drive?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says; but doesn’t complain when Caleb walks him over to the driver’s side, keeping his hand on Ben’s arm the entire time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they sit down and Ben gets the car started again, Caleb starts to fiddle with the radio. “Don’t bother,” Ben says. “The radio’s spotty at best. There’s DVDs in the glove compartment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He honestly doesn’t remember what’s on most of them—hasn’t listened to them in years—, but he doesn’t tell Caleb that; and the other’s more than happy to root around. He finally settles on a bright blue disk, and pops it into the player.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A second later, ear-shatteringly loud electric guitar blasts from the speakers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Ben yelps, and has to quickly readjust the steering wheel from where he accidentally yanked on it in surprise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb scrambles to try and find the volume control. “Shite, shite, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shite!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he hisses, finally managing to locate it; and gives Ben a sheepish glance. “Sorry, Tallboy. What the hell even </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben, after a beat to untense his jaw, replies, wincingly, “I...think that’s the band Abe was in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb raises a brow. “Band? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Woody?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben nods. “In college—I went to see them play once. It was...” he searches for the correct word. “An </span>
  <em>
    <span>experience,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he settles on, finally. “I don’t think my ears are ever going to be as good as they were before that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No </span>
  <em>
    <span>kidding,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Caleb whistles. “Did Woody sing, or...?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head. “Nah. He can’t go high enough. He was drums. And guitar, once, when their guitarist, Austin Roe, got the flu.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s...a terrifying prospect,” Caleb says. “Jesus. Uh. I think I’m done trying to put on music.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably a good idea,” Ben agrees, lips quirking slightly at the edges; and pops the DVD out, passing it to Caleb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the drive is more quiet; both of them content to pass the time in silence and occasional conversation. Caleb brought along snacks, and he offers them to Ben, who accepts gladly, not having eaten since breakfast. About half an hour away from Setauket, Caleb convinces him to switch and let him drive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promise not to crash,” he says, seriously; and Ben finds himself chuckling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” he agrees; and gets out to let the other take the wheel. Normally, he’d feel anxious about letting someone else drive, but with Caleb, he just feels...safe. He muses over it as he eats one of the little things of peach yoghurt with a spork.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb pulls into one of the last empty parking spots in front of the hotel. “Damn,” he says, squinting, “I don’t remember Setauket being such a holiday destination.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben shrugs. “It’s ‘rustic’ or something, I think. People come here and then go camping out in the woods for a few days and then go back home and talk about how they spent a weekend in the wilderness.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The </span>
  <em>
    <span>woods?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Caleb lets out a bark of laughter. “I’d feel bad for them if they weren’t stupid enough to think that was a good idea to start with. I hope they know how to deal with ticks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben doesn’t make comment on his words; just opens the door and stretches, listening to his spine crack satisfyingly, before he makes his way around to the back of the car. Caleb’s managed to get there ahead of him, and he’s got the trunk open, one hand on Ben’s suitcase, which is starting to tip precariously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful,” Ben warns, stepping forward to help steady it; hand accidentally brushing Caleb’s as he does so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both jump, and Caleb says “Jesus, your hands are cold,” just as Ben says “Sorry, my bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stare at each other for a few seconds in silence; and then Ben clears his throat awkwardly. “Er, yeah, I forgot to bring gloves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb frowns. “That’s no good. It gets pretty cold up here, Ben, you know that—how’d you forget you gloves? Nevermind,” he waves a hand as Ben opens his mouth; and manages to get both suitcases out without dropping either on the ground; taking his own in hand. “Let’s get checked in and we can turn the heater on and you can warm up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben pulls his jacket a bit tighter around himself. “I’ll take the car and grab a pair at the store or something,” he mutters, and shoves one hand into his pocket, closing the trunk, and grabbing his suitcase with the other, following after Caleb into the hotel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a room reserved—under the name Tallmadge?” he says to the receptionist; who hums and types away at his keyboard for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, here you are,” he says, and reaches under the counter, pulling out a small paper card-holder and passing it over to Ben. “Room 721. Breakfast ends at nine, and checkout is at noon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben nods, and turns towards Caleb, only to find he’s no longer by his side; has, instead, absconded off to the coffee machine on the other side of the lobby. He rolls his eyes. The more things change... “Caleb,” he calls, “c’mon, I’ve got our room-card.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb, who’s poking around the coffee creamers, turns on his heel, looking slightly guilty. “Right, right, yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, and follows Ben into the elevator. They ride up to the third floor in silence—Ben fell asleep a bit towards the end of the drive, and he’s still feeling kind of drowsy, and for his part, Caleb doesn’t try and make conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The keycard gets stuck for a second, and Ben resists the urge to bang his head against the door, before Clabe nudges him aside and tries it again, opening the door with ease, and holds the door open for Ben.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Ben mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not even noon yet, but Ben feels exhaustion wash over him; and he shoves his suitcase against the wall and collapses onto one of the two beds. Caleb lets out a laugh. “Tired, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very,” Ben mumbles into the heavenly soft duvet, and then winces slightly at how the bridge of his glasses digs into his nose. “I’m going to sleep for so long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were going to go over to your dad’s,” Caleb reminds him; and Ben groans, cursing his horrible luck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He twists his neck, squinting at Caleb. “Fine,” he says, “but when we get back, I’m going right to sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb raises his hands placatingly. “Hey, I’m not going to try and stop you.” His tone turns teasing. “You gotta get your beauty sleep, Tallboy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tugs off his glasses and buries his face in the bedsheets again. “Shut up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does get up after a few minutes, and puts his glasses back on. Caleb’s pulled off his jacket, and he’s lounging in the office chair at the desk, scrolling his phone. When ben rises, he looks up. “We going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s coming up on noon, so yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb stands up, rocking on his feet for a moment. “Alright. How annoyingly engaged do you want to be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben huffs. “As annoying as you can make it,” he replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb nods. “Okay,” he says, and offers Ben his arm. Ben stares at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, before Caleb sighs, and says, “I’m trying t’ be a gentleman here, Bennyboy, get with the program.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben shoves his arm away. “I hate you.” He finds himself smiling, though. “Let’s—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually,” Caleb interrupts, “I wanted to give you something.” He unzips his suitcase and pulls out a pair of gloves, holing them out to Ben. “Here. I, uh, brought an extra pair, and you forgot yours, so...” He trails off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...thanks,” Ben says, after a beat, and takes them. They’re soft, wool, maybe, and a royal blue; and Ben’s palms are suddenly sweaty. He pulls them on, and then takes Caleb’s arm. “Okay, let’s go.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Ben drives. He’s not sure he’d be able to sit next to Caleb, unmoving, for even just the ten minutes it takes them to get to his dad’s. He does his best to focus on the road rather than the bright blue wool; the light smattering of snow that’s started up, brushed away every so often by the windshield-wipers rather than the warm presence chatting away in the passenger seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he pulls into the driveway, he finds himself wishing it had been a longer trip, to have been able to reach out and take Caleb’s hand in his own. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t be ridiculous,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he reminds himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>we’re only pretending.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“The blackberries have really taken off,” Caleb comments, and Ben realises he’s been sitting with a hand on the door handle, the door half-open, for who knows how long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallows; opens the door fully and gets out. “Huh,” he says, hoping his voice doesn’t sound higher than usual. “They’re almost a hedge.” And then, teasingly, “You’ll have to be careful not to get stuck in there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb swats at him. “Hey!” he protests indignantly, “that’s no way to treat your fiancé, Tallboy! And, on that note,” he reaches forward, grabbing Ben’s hand in his own; the heat of his hand seeping through the glove.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben startles at the action; and Caleb’s face clouds. “Is that not—?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, it’s fine,” Ben says, hastily. “I, uh, I just wasn’t expecting it. Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Caleb says, but his lips are still pinched slightly. He doesn’t let go of Ben’s hand, though; leading them up the steps and to the simple, but elegant, dark wood front door, rapping the knocker against the wood with his free hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben shifts from one foot to the other; an action which Caleb, with the proximity, instantly notices. “Hey,” he murmurs, gentle; correctly identifying Ben’s anxiety, “it’s gonna be alright. I’m here, okay, Ben? If you need anything, I’m right next to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Only for two more days, though,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ben’s mind whispers; and he tries to shake it off; opens his mouth to thank the other; but the door opens just then, silencing him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a beat he finds he can’t talk; and then Calebb squeezes his hand reassuringly, and Ben finds his voice again. “Dad,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel regards him with an unreadable expression. “Benjamin. So, you came.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With...” he frowns, the quick twist of his lips gone a second later; gaze flickering over Caleb; at first searching, and then, a second later, sparking with familiarity. “Caleb Brewster?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s an undertone to his voice Ben can’t parse; but Caleb apparently can; and doesn’t like it much; because he says, overly cheerily, “Mister Tallmadge! Hi, it’s great to see you!” He sticks out his hand; smiling widely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel’s face twitches. “Do come in,” he says; flatly. “Benjamin, Samuel is in the kitchen with Caroline. I hope you didn’t track in </span>
  <em>
    <span>filth.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben grits his teeth. “No, dad, don’t worry.” He tugs on Caleb’s hand. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Caroline.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, babe,” Caleb says placidly, and lets himself be pulled along to the kitchen. Once they’re sufficiently out of earshot, he leans in to whisper, “Is it just me, or is your dad more of a dick than he used to be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not just you,” Ben whispers back. “He never liked you a lot, but now that he thinks we’re engaged, he’s not trying to hide it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Great,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Caleb says, sarcastically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ben?” It’s Sam; his face lighting up with a sort of childish glee Ben hasn’t seen in years; and then, “Caleb? Caleb </span>
  <em>
    <span>Brewster?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Is that you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye,” Caleb says, just seconds before being pulled into a hug by Sam. He hugs him back one-armedly; the other hand still trapped in Ben’s, and, realising that, Ben lets go, feeling slightly embarrassed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In an attempt to feel less awkward, he says, “Hey, I thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>was your brother—where’s my welcome home hug?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Sam says, and lets go of Caleb to pull Ben into an embrace of his own. When he pulls away, he cocks his head, looking between Caleb and Ben, and asks, tentatively, “What made you decide to come? We haven’t seen you in years?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was Caleb, actually,” Ben says; lips twisting; because, in a manner of speaking it’s true. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb hums. “Yeah, I told Ben here that I wasn’t going to marry him without getting to go to at least one famous Tallmadge Christmas dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what you said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay, you got me,” Caleb says, rolling his eyes, “but I’m not going to say what I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> say around your </span>
  <em>
    <span>brother,</span>
  </em>
  <span> am I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam’s face contorts. “Please don’t,” he says. “Congrats, but I really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t need to know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Caleb grins, “you really don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Caleb,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Ben hisses; cheeks flaming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other gives him an innocent look. “What is it, Tallboy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Ben can speak, though, Caroline appears. “Ben!” she says, “it’s good to see you. Who’s this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m his fiancé,” Caleb says. “Caleb Brewster.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Caleb Brewster?” She squints. “You two went to school together, didn’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb nods. “Fell for each other in high school,” he says, fondly. “‘Course, with Yale, we didn’t get together until a Ben was a senior.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, young love.” Caroline’s expression is wistful. “You have to tell me all about it, Caleb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe tomorrow,” Ben cuts in. “We only stopped by to say hi, and we were going to...” he casts around for something to explain it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb comes to his rescue. “We were going to have our anniversary dinner,” he says, and turns to smile widely at Ben, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek, his beard rough against Ben’s skin; the warm scent of bergamot hitting Ben. “Three years, now. I’m going to go warm up the car, Tallboy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Ben says, slightly dazed; and Caleb detaches from his side, leaving him feeling exposed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caroline is already congratulating him; and Sam echoes the sentiment; but his brother’s expression has a tinge of something like suspicion. He brushes it off—he’s probably just overthinking it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he says. “Uh, where’s Miriam and the kids? I wanted to say hi to them...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They went to go grab some stuff for Christmas dinner,” Sam replies. “I’ll let them know you said hi. Go, Ben. Have a nice anniversary dinner with Caleb—you deserve it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben worries his lip. “Thanks,” he says, finally. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Sam confirms, “unless there’s something else...?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caroline shakes her head. “No, we have tomorrow and Christmas off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great,” Ben says, “we’ll see you tomorrow, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel hasn’t reappeared since he showed Ben and Caleb inside and vanished shortly after, but Ben feels like he’s watching him as he makes his way to the door; the weight of it nearly suffocating, and Ben shivers. He pulled his gloves off when they came inside, but now he shoves them back on, fingers unsteady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he gets out to the car, Caleb’s sitting in the driver’s seat, the heat on, as promised; and Ben slumps gratefully into the passenger seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb shoots him a concerned look. “You alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben waves him off. “I’m fine,” he says, “just...tired. And hungry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good thing we were going to go eat dinner,” Caleb replies; and Ben gives him a confused look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not going out for dinner for our anniversary, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Caleb agrees, “but we are going out for dinner. That bit’s true. I already googled to see where the closest IHOP is—it’s ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben’s lips twitch. “IHOP,” he says, shaking his head. “Some things never change.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Ben orders buttermilk pancakes and an omelette; Caleb, unsurprisingly, goes for the birthday-cake pancakes, and orders double, as well as a pumpkin-spice latte. “When they do an autopsy on you, your blood’s going to be replaced by pumpkin-spice latte,” Ben says, when he finishes his second and orders a third.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb kicks his leg lightly under the table. “Don’t be a wet blanket, Ben,” he admonishes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wet blanket—</span>
  <em>
    <span>wet blanket—</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Caleb says, “since we were kids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I stopped you from sneaking into the abandoned house </span>
  <em>
    <span>once</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb snorts. “Once. Sure. Okay.” He spears a piece of pancake on his fork, shoving the rainbow-sprinkle filled mess into his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben scowls at him; but doesn’t try and pursue it. Instead, he cuts his own meal into uniform pieces before pouring maple syrup over the pancakes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember sneaking off campus for lunch?” Caleb asks, suddenly, and Ben looks up, fork halfway to his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Memories of sitting pressed shoulder to shoulder in tiny little restaurants surface; the sound of Caleb’s laugh, the feel of it reverberating against his skin where he had buried his face in Ben’s shoulder. “Yeah, why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb shrugs. “No reason,” he says. “‘s just that sitting here reminded me of it.” He looks away from Ben. Ben tries not to be disappointed—after all, he was the one with the one-sided crush, not Caleb; it’s normal that it doesn’t mean as much to him as it does to Ben.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the meal passes more quietly; Caleb seems to be lost in thought, and Ben’s more than fine with the silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drive back to the hotel is just as quiet; the snow’s started coming down in earnest when they were eating, and the half whited-out landscape lends a sort of silence that no amount of talking could break. It’s almost comforting, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb’s driving again; and Ben finds himself watching him. The dark curls are a bit longer than he remembers them being, falling just slightly past the tops of his ears, and his beard adds an air of roguishness and charm. Ben remembers, with sudden clarity, the feel of it against his cheek from earlier—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ben?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinks. “Sorry, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was asking if you were okay,” Caleb says. “You were kind of zoned out for a moment. Is your dad still bugging you...?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben shakes his head. “No, it’s fine,” he says; mustering up his best effort to make it come off genuine. It seems to succeed, because Caleb doesn’t press any further.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to take a quick shower,” Caleb says, when they get back to their room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. I’m going to take a nap.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb huffs. “Probably a good idea. You look like ya need one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben just pulls off his glasses and flops down onto his bed, revelling in the softness; letting his tired eyes fall shut. Caleb laughs softly, and Ben finds himself smiling at the sound; the image of the other’s smile, lighting his face up and making him even more handsome, flashes in his mind’s eye; and he wonders if Caleb’s still smiling as he opens the bathroom door and slips inside, shrugging off his warm, soft hoodie—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Ben says, and sits up abruptly. This can’t be happening. He can’t develop a crush on Caleb—for Christ’s sake, he’s in his mid-twenties, he’s too old to be having crushes. And Caleb’s probably not interested anyway, and it would be really fucking awkward for Caleb to find out that the man he’s been pretending to be engaged to is actually into him, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” Ben says, and stands up. He needs to talk to someone about this, or he’s going to lose his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He vaguely registers pocketing his phone, and yelling to Caleb that he’s going out for a quick walk, pulling on his thick coat and stepping out into the cold winter air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna. Anna will know what to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She picks up after a few rings. “Ben?” she asks, sounding slightly apprehensive. “What’s wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I have a crush on Caleb,” Ben blurts out, gripping the phone tightly. He can’t see properly—he left his glasses by the bedside—but that just adds to the hilarity of it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a beat. “Caleb? Caleb...Brewster?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Ben says; and just like that, he finds himself spilling the entire story to Anna. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he’s finished, Anna lets out a long sigh. “You idiot,” she says, gently. “I can’t believe you did this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben laughs helplessly. “It’s only just hitting me now,” he admits. “I thought it would be fine, Annie, but...but having him be so, so tactile, and funny, and—and so </span>
  <em>
    <span>Caleb</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it, it. God. How was I supposed to be able to stand against that and not be affected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dramatic as ever,” Anna says; but not unkindly. “You know, you could just...tell him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He barks a laugh. “No go, Annie. I want to be friends after this, and that’s the quickest path to him never talking to me again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really don’t think that’ll happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it could.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, fine.” She sounds exasperated, now; and Ben winces slightly. More gently, she adds, “Look, just...you do whatever you think is best, okay? Take care of yourself, Ben.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll try,” Ben promises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he gets back, Caleb’s watching TV; sprawled on his bed in his pyjamas. He looks absolutely adorable, Ben thinks,and almost says it, before trying to banish the thought. “Anything good on?” he asks, instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb looks up. “You’re back,” he says. “Uh, there’s the Bachelorette, a rerun of Charmed, and some baking shows.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that the Great British Bake-off?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods. “It’s the most bearable thing on. Plus, it’s funny.” He hesitates for a moment, before he shifts to the side a bit, and says, “You can come watch it with me, if you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...that would be nice,” Ben says, and toes of his shoes to sit next to Caleb’s side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The episode is halfway through already; but Caleb recounts what’s already happened so far in a hushed tone, so Ben manages to get caught up. They wind up watching a good two hour’s worth of the show, but Ben barely notices; too caught up in Caleb’s commentary and the fascinating inventions the bakers themselves create.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Ben says, the next morning, as he digs through his suitcase the next morning. He’s been awake for about an hour and a half, but he’s only just gotten to taking out the presents, since he wound up spending over an hour at breakfast with Caleb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb pokes his head out from the bathroom, a concerned look fixed upon his face. “What’s wrong?” He’s got a toothbrush poking out of his mouth, and a towel wrapped around his waist, water still dripping from his hair and down his chest and abdomen—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben drags his gaze away as sharply as he can. “Uh...I forgot to bring wrapping paper,” he says, after a beat. “And I need to get these wrapped, stat, ‘cause tomorrow’s the big day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t you just pop on down to the store and grab some?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head. “Not now, not on Christmas eve. There’s no way any place in Setauket are gonna have any wrapping paper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb, who’s ducked back into the bathroom, says, “And you can’t go out of Setauket because...?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m supposed to spend the afternoon with Sam’s kids,” Ben replies, “all of the stores in the area close at eight, and I’m supposed to spend all day with them, and I don’t want to skimp out on seeing them—it’s been five years already...” He sighs, trying not to feel absolutely miserable. “I don’t want to turn up with unwrapped gifts, but I don’t want to flake out on seeing them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Caleb leans out of the bathroom again, he’s fully dressed, fortunately for Ben’s sanity. “A rock and a hard place.” He hums. “What if you had a boat underneath you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if you had a boat,” Caleb repeats. “I mean, there’s a rushing river underneath, right—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben frowns at him. “I don’t think that’s—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb shushes him. “There’s a river underneath. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> have a boat for you. Or, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> the boat,” he amends. “I’ll drive out of town to grab you wrapping paper, and you can go see your family. It’s the perfect plan. All I need,” he moves to Ben’s side, “is the keys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben shakes his head. “Caleb, no,” he protests, “I can’t ask that of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not asking,” Caleb retorts. “I’m offering. And I will wrestle you for the keys if that’s necessary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The resolution in his tone makes Ben sag slightly; both in defeat and relief. “Okay,” he sighs, digging his keys out of his pocket and handing them over. “And Caleb?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben pulls him into a tight embrace. “Thank you,” he whispers, into the other’s hair, and closes his eyes for a moment. “It...it means a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Course.” This close, the other’s voice rumbles against his skin, even through their clothing; and Ben allows himself, for a moment, to imagine waking up in the morning with Caleb pressed against him like this, voice just as deep. “What are friends for?” Caleb adds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right. Friends. Ben shakes himself. “Yeah,” he says, pulling away, and doing his best to smile genuinely. “Seriously, though, thank you, Caleb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb waves him off, halfway to the door already. “Have fun with your family, Ben,” he calls, “that’s enough thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben watches the door for a long time after it closes behind him; and it’s only the alarm he set to remind himself that he needs to get going that rouses him from his daze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes the bus, and manages to be on time, by some miracle; but despite the kids—six and eight—flocking around him, and Sam and Miriam’s company, he feels like there’s something missing; a piece of the puzzle lost, or something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re just about to go to the ice chalet when his phone rings. Fingers clumsy, Ben fumbles with it for a few moments before he manages to answer. “Hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tallboy,” Caleb’s voice says, tinny, “I just got done and wanted t’ call and ask if you guys are having fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going to the ice chalet,” Ben says; and then, without thinking, blurts, “you should come. The kids’ll love you, and Miriam and Sam will be glad for another adult.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a silence, long enough that Ben’s afraid he’s hung up, and Sam’s yelling at him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>get moving already, Ben, we don’t have all day!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Then: “I’d love to. Text me the address.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will do,” Ben says, and slips the phone into his pocket once the call ends, face hurting with the force of how hard he’s grinning.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Caleb arrives at the chalet about fifteen minutes later; face red and hair windswept from the chilling winds outside. Ben, holding Alisha’s hand so she can stay upright, doesn’t even notice he’s there until there’s a tap on his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nearly turns around violently quickly; but remembering the young girl in front of him, reigns it in and instead says, “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just came over to say hi and let you know I’m here,” comes Caleb’s voice from behind him, and there’s a hand at his hip for a brief moment before Caleb is skating backwards in front of him. Ben’s eyes widen at the manoeuvre, and, seeing his expression, Alisha cranes her neck to see what he’s looking at, and gasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncle Ben!” she exclaims, “how’s he doing that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Ben admits; because his skills with ice-skates extend about as far as going fast in a fairly straight line forward. “Why don’t you ask him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you do that?” she calls, to Caleb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grins. “C’mere and I’ll show you,” he offers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowns; giving Ben an apprehensive look. “But I can’t...m”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure you can,” Caleb encourages. “Just one foot in front of the other, see?” He demonstrates, gliding closer to the two of them. “Come on, it’s not too far. You can do it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hesitantly, she releases Ben’s hands; wobbling slightly where she stands, her glide across the ice between them and Caleb slow and tentative; but finally, she makes it to Caleb, grabbing the arm of his jacket for support.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb gives a quiet cheer. “See? I knew you could do it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben finds himself grinning as well; and watches as the two of them take a slow lap around the rink. At first, Alisha keeps a tight grip on Caleb’s sleeve, but after a few minutes, she begins to skate on her own; until, finally, she’s laughing and doing loops, backward and forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have good taste in men.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben does startle this time; turning to find Miriam by his side. “...yeah,” he says. “Caleb is...Caleb is great.” He can’t think of another way to describe him without sounding like a sixth grader with a crush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hums. “Sam was telling me you guys knew each other as kids?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods; scuffing the toe of his skate against the ice. “Yeah,” he says. “I had a crush on him when we were kids, and then when I went off to Yale we kept in contact, and, well,” he shrugs. “The rest is history.” It’s somewhat true, at least; and as they say, the best lies are those rooted in the truth. He can’t help but feel a tinge of wistful longing, though, for a universe where it’s wholly true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam’s broken away from Amy’s side and gone over to Caleb and Alisha; and the older girl makes her way over to them. “Mom,” she says, “can we get hot chocolate from the concession stand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ask your dad,” Miriam replies; and Amy rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she says. “He said to ask you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With Miriam’s attention on her daughter, Ben’s attention is drawn once again to Caleb. He and Sam are chatting and laughing, and Alisha is doing loops around the two of them, and every so often, Caleb will say something Ben assumes is encouragement or a compliment,because she brightens up at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to join in; but it feels like there’s some sort of invisible barrier between him and them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Caleb looks up and catches his gaze, motioning him over; and the barrier weakens enough that Ben manages to make his way over. “Hey, babe,” Caleb murmurs when he gets to his side; reaching up to brush a hand across his cheek. “You need to wear more—your cheeks are red.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not cold,” Ben protests weakly, trying not to stutter from the heat of Caleb’s skin against his, but Caleb is already pulling off his scarf and draping it around Ben’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There,” he says, patting his chest and smiling, “that’ll keep you nice and warm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“T—thanks,” Ben says, stumbling over the word, and tugs at it. It’s a warm, dark brown, and it’s soft and fluffy and smells like Caleb’s beard oil from when he leaned in to press a kiss to Ben’s cheek the other day. He’s pretty sure his cheeks and ears are flaming red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Course,” Caleb replies. “We wouldn’t want you to freeze before we get you back under the covers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That manages to jolt Ben out of his daze, and he says “Caleb!” and smacks his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb just laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the time at the rink, Ben remains warm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they get back to the hotel, the wrapping paper—blue, with whales with santa hats on them—is sitting on the desk. Ben turns to thank Caleb. “Thank you,” he says, quietly; and pulls out the presents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb begins to move towards his bed, and Ben reaches out, putting a hand on his arm. “Hey,” he says, “will you help me wrap these?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb stares at him uncomprehendingly for a moment; and then says, “But these are for your family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a beat; and then Caleb nods. “Okay,” he says, and lets Ben pull him to sit down on the floor, and begins to wrap the first present—a set of sci-fi novels for Amy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sam mentioned she really liked </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dune</span>
  </em>
  <span> last time we talked,” Ben explains, wrapping the bow for Alisha up. “I hope she likes them—I hardly know anything about the kids, with how long it’s been since I saw them last...Alisha was only one; I’m surprised she took to me so well at the ice chalet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb pats his arm. “Hey, hey,” he says. “You’re great with them, Ben, they really like you, so they’ll love anything you get them. I promise. I had the same thing happen with my nieces when I was working on a cruise-ship. They don’t forget you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben swallows. “Thanks,” he murmurs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don’t speak much after that; but Caleb’s presence by his side is comforting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s late when they finish wrapping the presents; and Ben falls asleep before he remembers to give the scarf back, and he falls asleep with the warm scent of it soothing him.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Sam greets them at the door the next day. “Hey!” he says, “you’re just on time—Dad just got out the breakfast platter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweet,” Caleb says, hand in Ben’s, and gives it a squeeze, the action calming Ben’s nerves slightly, and he smiles. Caleb peels off his jacket, and then helps Ben out of his own, much thicker coat when they get inside—he would have worn the thinner one, but Caleb, ever the mother-hen, had clicked his tongue and insisted Ben dig out the thicker one so that he didn’t freeze in the weather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben, coaxed in part by the fearsome Brewster glare, and in part by the fact that Caleb insisted on putting his hands all over him, caved, and went with the thicker coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You going t’ be alright?” Caleb asks, quietly, as they follow Sam through the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben hesitates. “I think so,” he finally says. “I have you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb’s smile threatens to outshine the sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re pulled apart pretty quickly; Caleb to talking with Sam and Miriam while Nathaniel occasionally interjects, lips pinched at Caleb’s presence, and Ben, to helping Alisha and Amy put together a thousand-piece owl puzzle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few minutes, Alisha props herself up on her elbows. “Mom said you an’ Caleb are gonna get married,” she says, peering up at Ben with wide, brown eyes. “Are you? Is Caleb gonna be our new uncle?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben freezes. “It’s...complicated,” he says, after a beat; because he can’t think of any way to explain the mess he’s gotten himself into to a six year old, and even if he could, then the ruse would be up and all the effort he put into it for naught.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amy frowns at him. “But you love him, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—yeah,” Ben says. “I mean, we’re engaged. I’m, I’m going to marry him.” And then, again, with more conviction, “I’m going to marry him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two stare at him with the same flat look; and Ben feels like they’re staring into his soul. It’s uncanny how much they resemble their father—Ben remembers Sam giving him the very same stare when he used to lie about having finished his homework</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...okay,” Amy says, finally; and reaches out to grab a cracker and some cheese. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben drops his gaze and tries to pay attention to the puzzle and figure out which pieces go where; sifting through a pile of pieces to see if he can find any more edge pieces. Thankfully, the girls seem to get the hint, and lay off asking about Caleb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Around ten, they finish the puzzle; and Ben rises, cracking his neck. “Alright, I have to go help with dinner,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to?” Alisha whines. “I wanna play cat’s cradle...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure your sister will play with you,” Ben replies, “right, Amy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only if you give me some of the molasses cookies,” Amy bargains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben sighs. “Bribery. You’re getting smart. Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about </span>
  <em>
    <span>me?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Alisha demands, and Ben’s lips twitch. He makes his promises to both of them before making his way into the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb’s helping Sam with a salad, while Miriam and Caroline work on the chicken; Nathaniel’s no where to be seen, but Ben’s not terribly surprised by that—his father’s never been the type to help out with a meal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben does his best to slip around them innocuously to grab the cookies from the pantry, but Caleb spots him. “Your sweet-tooth’s showing, babe,” he teases, lips quirked into a smile; and Ben finds himself giving an answering one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As if you don’t spend the weekends baking cakes and then eating half of them in the day,” he retorts, and Caleb’s grin widens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What can I say?” he asks. “Maybe I just like being sweet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben huffs; bumping their shoulders together on the way back to the living-roo. “You don’t need to be any sweeter,” he says, “you’re perfect as you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You guys are disgustingly in love,” he hears Miriam say, behind him; and his heart aches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girls accept the cookies and scarf them down, and Ben returns to the kitchen. “Anything I can help with?” he asks, sidling up next to Caleb’s side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pass me the potatoes, please,” Caleb says, gaze focused on where he’s chopping onions; and Ben looks around, trying to find the potatoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re in the fridge,” Sam says, combining the dressing. “Should be top left.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s where Samp predicted; and Ben takes the container out. “Here you go,” he says, passing it to Caleb, who gives a mumbled thanks and directs him to put them in the bowl along with the onions and chives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They finish cooking around four, just in time for an early dinner. Nathaniel’s come back in from where he was doing something in the shop, and he’s been decently civil, if slightly short, to Ben and Caleb, which Ben’s glad for—he doesn’t want Caleb to have a horrible time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb takes a seat next to him, taking his hand underneath the table. Ben finds his breathing slows to a more comfortable rate at the contact. He squeezes Caleb’s hand in thanks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dinner is great; and conversation flows well. Miriam and Sam press him and Caleb about their relationship, for which Caleb fields most of the questions, letting Ben smile dopily—and slightly wistfully—into his meal at Caleb’s quips and recountings of fake relationship milestones. The entire time, hand remains in Ben’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Afterwards, they watch a documentary on the revolutionary war; Amy interjecting every few minutes to ask a question about something on the documentary. And then, it’s finally time to open the presents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amy and Alisha love theirs, and Ben feels relieved at that. Sam and Miriam appreciate theirs, as well as the one that Caleb got for them. Nathaniel gives a grunt as he opens his to reveal a set of woodworking tools, and Ben takes that as a success.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By then, it’s nine, and the kids are yawning, and Miriam and Sam usher them off to get ready for bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s then that Nathaniel chooses to finally address them. “Benjamin’s job is very high-pressure,” he says, apropos nothing. “You might find he doesn’t have enough time for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben grits his jaw. “My job isn’t going to stop me from having a happy life with my </span>
  <em>
    <span>boyfriend.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel raises his hands. “I’m just warning him. Though, from what I remember of him as a child, maybe I should be more afraid for you—I wouldn’t want your reputation to be tarnished when he inevitably gets in trouble with the law. It would ruin your future prospects, especially with the ladies—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mister Tallmadge,” Caleb says, calmly, but Ben can hear an undercurrent of anger in his tone, “Ben is </span>
  <em>
    <span>gay,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and my </span>
  <em>
    <span>fiancé.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’d appreciate if you’d stop trying to get him to be whatever idealised version of him you planned out when he was born.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The reverend sputters. “I was simply—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love Ben,” Caleb continues, “and I would </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> do anything to jeopradise his career. All I want is to make him as happy as he makes me—I’m sorry you can’t see that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a lump in Ben’s throat; and he feels like emotion is going to burst forth from him, and leave him saying something unwise. “‘scuse me,” he says, rising, “I need a glass of water—my throat’s a bit sore.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabs a glass from the kitchen and flees to the porch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s cold outside, and he’s forgotten to grab his coat; but the gloves Caleb give him are shoved into the pockets of the hoodie Caleb insisted he wear. The reminder makes his heart clench painfully, and he shoves them back in his pockets instead of putting them on; and the cold makes his cheeks and fingers sting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An indeterminate amount of time later, the door opens. “Ben? You okay? You’ve been out here for a while...” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb. Ben closes his eyes. “I’m fine,” Ben says, voice croaky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other moves to stand by his side, leaning against the railing. “You don’t sound fine,” he says, bluntly. “And you’re barely wearing anything—you’re going to freeze out here.” He reaches to take Ben’s hands, but, for once, Ben pulls away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a second, he thinks he sees a flicker of disappointment on the other’s face, but then it’s gone, and he’s just sighing. “Come on in, Tallboy,” he says, opening the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a beat, Ben follows.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>They don’t talk nearly as the rest of the night; it’s late when they get back, Ben reasons, and that’s why; but he can’t deny that, afterwards, there’s a sort of a divide that’s grown between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They keep in touch, of course; they’re friends, after all, but there’s a noticeable difference in their conversations; as if they’re both slightly off kilter, uncertain of how to act around each other. Ben hates it, selfishly wants to go back to the ease that they had during the three days in Setauket. Or, if not that, then at least he wants something to fill the proverbial hole that’s sprung up in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe that’s why, when Abe slides into the seat usually reserved for whoever he has a meeting with in his office on the twenty-ninth of December and slaps an invitation to his annual New Year’s Eve party, Ben barely has to glance at it before he says “Yes, I’ll come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abe gapes at him. “I thought I was gonna have to convince ya,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben gives an irritated huff. “Maybe I just want to take advantage of your inventory of drinks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other raises a brow. “Damn, Ben, did you get kidnapped by aliens or something?” he quips, but it falls kind of flat when Ben doesn’t reply; and Abe sighs. “Well, whatever it is, don’t let it get in my way, alright? I’m going to try and ask Rob out, and I don’t need you cocking things up for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can do that perfectly well on your own,” Ben mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncalled for,” Abe sniffs. “I hope whatever’s got your pants in a twist gets solved soon, ‘cause you are </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span> fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben just waves a dismissive hand and shoves the invite into his desk drawer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The party isn’t half bad, as it turns out; Abe’s managed to pick some decent music, everyone’s dressed in at least somewhat formal clothing, the hors d'oeuvres are really good, and, most importantly, there’s good drinks to be had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabs himself a glass of something he thinks might be pilfered from Judge Woodhull’s own liquor cabinet, and makes off with it as far away from where Abe and Rob have gone from arguing at a decent volume to making out in the corner like a pair of teenagers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘As far away as possible’, as it turns out, happens to be the balcony. There’s a figure already standing on it, but Ben figures whoever they are will make for better conversation than Rob, who, besides Abe and Mary—who’s disappeared off to who knows where—, is the only person at the party he actually knows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty clear night, huh?”  he offers, approaching the figure. “Good for seeing constellations.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the countdown to midnight,” returns an unmistakably familiar voice. “What do you think the new year’ll bring, Tallboy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben remembers the press of Caleb’s hand against his cheek. “Something as good as this last year, I hope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb’s lips twist. “Diplomatic answer. I’ll drink to that.” He takes a pull from his own glass, and Ben follows suit. It’s not his first glass, and going by the slight ruddiness of Caleb’s complexion, he doesn’t think it’s the other’s, either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Ben says, lips twisting wryly, “I sort of have to be for my job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb hums. “I remember you used to be the most levelheaded of all’a us when we were kids,” he reminisces. “Must be why your dad never liked me—didn’t want me being a bad example. Then again,” he adds, “I can’t really blame him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben finds himself smiling slightly. “You were kind of a mischievous kid,” he agrees. “God—remember that time you trapped Beekman in the chemistry room for the night after he ruined our semester project for class?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other chuckles. “Extremely well. Loved seeing the expression on that bastard’s face when he realised that he didn’t get to fuck with Ben Tallmadge without paying for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The entire school talked about it for a week. You were suspended for a month—it must have been quite the expression to be worth that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb shrugs. “He made you upset, Tallboy. It was worth it to have you feel better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben smiles slightly. “You were a really good friend,” he murmurs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a beat, and the other looks away. “I did wish we were more sometimes,” he says. “Just—you know. You and me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben swallows thickly. “That’s...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Caleb says. “That was years ago. It was just a crush, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish I had known,” Ben says, grip on his glass tight, and he sets it down on the small table for fear of accidentally breaking it. “I had a crush on you too, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...you did?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” He laughs slightly; heart racing. “I’m surprised no one noticed—I was practically making heart eyes at you for two and a half years. We missed an opportunity, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb sets his glass down as well; turning to face him fully. “What if,” he says; and pauses. “What if...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if...?” Ben echoes, hoping beyond hope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if we had another opportunity?” Caleb asks, taking a step towards him; hands fidgeting at his sides; expression hesitant. “There’s ten seconds to midnight—it’s good luck to kiss someone to ring in the new year. What if I asked? What would you say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nine. Eight. Seven. Six.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben licks his lips. “If you asked...if you asked...I would say yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Five.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb’s close enough Ben can feel the heat of his skin. “Tallboy,” he says, quietly; intended only for Ben. “Will you kiss me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Four. Three. Two.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Ben whispers; and drags him into a searing kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>One.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>you can find me at <a href="https://major-721.tumblr.com/">major-721</a> on tumblr</p></blockquote></div></div>
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